


Left Unsupervised

by MayorMimi



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Ending, Bad Flirting, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Children, Comedy, Crack, Cute Kids, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Friends to Enemies, Friendship, Funny, Gen, Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Mud, Stupidity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-24 23:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22266340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayorMimi/pseuds/MayorMimi
Summary: AU: BL route except Dimitri's brain cells were never found.Byleth calls in sick and misses the final battle. Dimitri, being off his professor's leash, mud wrestles his childhood friend while the rest of the former classmates slowly lose their motivation to fight.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez & Linhardt von Hevring, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dorothea Arnault & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dorothea Arnault & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Leonie Pinelli, Ferdinand von Aegir & Hilda Valentine Goneril, Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Left Unsupervised

As a little girl, Edelgard stood a few inches taller than Dimitri and was older than her step-brother by half a year. This seemed irrelevant to adults yet made all the difference to children. To Dimitri, this meant she had a head start and that he’d need to train twice as hard to have a chance at besting her. 

Yet, a part of him always foresaw that he’d never beat her. Every mud-wrestle the two initiated had concluded with him pinned face-down in the muck, with his arm twisted against his back and Edelgard pressing him down between her knees, parroting, "Have you given up? When will you learn to give up?" Despite his whimpers, tears, and bruised ego, he’d swear to her each time that he’d never relent. It was true.

The only thing that could tear them apart would be their nurses dragging Edelgard away and dusting her skirt. There would be Mother, telling her off for behaving in any way unbecoming of a girl her age for the umpteenth time that afternoon. The girl refused to understand the difference between teaching her friend how to dance and teaching him how to fight, apart from the fact that the two favored the latter. Watching authority figures scold his friend turned Dimitri’s vexation into a slight regret. 

There was something about the sight of her battered and blemished with mud that stirred a contradictory sensation of pride in Dimitri. The thought of ‘ _Exemplary Edie_ ’—graceful and a stickler for perfection—forgetting herself when she’s left unsupervised with the little prince and being unable to resist sloppy games with him in the courtyard flattered him to no end. Dimitri’s face glowed with a secret delight whenever Edelgard, who always took pride in her obedience, would talk back to her nursemaids to be allowed to frolic with him through the castle garden again. Romping through the lavender beds and ponds would be more preferable to being dragged inside for another gray history lesson, regardless of one’s playmate, but Dimitri liked to think that his point still stood.

The mix of snark and fondness grown-ups expressed with verbal sparring was—in the eyes of the little ones—no different from tumbling through muck and sludge. Still, they knew adults would never understand. Because of this, the two learned to keep their playtime away from the prying eyes of authority figures by racing each other through halls littered with fine china or inciting pillow fights in Dimitri’s bedroom of glass cabinets and priceless vases. Of course, nothing could beat sneaking out on hot evenings for mud fights. Edelgard won every time, but despite her gloating and Dimitri behaving like a sore loser, it never mattered in the bigger picture. Through silly fantasies and wishful thinking did they dream of doing the same as adults. Never could they foresee engaging in what used to be a game with such blood lust. 

Childhood friends and retainers of both the empress and the king respectively wondered how they hadn’t seen it coming. Byleth should’ve never called in sick when the three kingdoms faced each other off at last; the professor was Dimitri’s only impulse control. With that variable removed from the equation, it was no wonder he swapped strategy for whatever came to mind. Graduates of the Blue Lions felt shame and disappointment concerning Dimitri’s frankly scandalous decision to forgo his lance and take the empress down with his brute force. All but Felix who expected nothing less of everybody’s beloved boar prince.

On the few occasions he spoke, Dimitri used to spin long-winded narratives of everything he’d like to inflict on Edelgard with his own hands. Most accounts ended with either hanging her head on the monastery's gates or—on days his sanity hadn’t failed him as much—burning the empress’s corpse into a pile of ash. A point of concern, in Byleth’s eyes, was that his fantasies neither mentioned any use of weaponry on the battlefield nor were they practical. His professor had to admit how far-fetched it was to think Dimitri considered all the skull-crushing and neck-snapping he spoke of, but it was never wise to underestimate a madman. Nobody with a fever could maintain their usual wisdom, however, and the same could be said about the professor deciding to call in sick and stay behind. Again, students of all houses wished Byleth was there to keep Dimitri on a leash.

There was no helping the sticky situation now. Dimitri had Edelgard’s back pressed down against a large patch of mud. Their retainers rushed towards them from opposite ends of the battlefield to split the royals apart. Grabbing her shoulders to pin her, Dimitri growled as loud as he could manage through a throat dry with rage: “Dedue, don’t even _think_ about interfering!”

“Likewise, Hubert!” Edelgard’s gloved fingers raked through Dimitri’s hair to pull him down towards her headfirst, to overthrow him. Dimitri would have loved to see himself as a wolf coming down on a rabbit—but everybody realized that even without her tomes and _Aymr_ , Edelgard had the upper hand. There wasn’t a chance that the empress would go down without a fight.

Hubert slowed until he stopped inches from the bed of muck the children frolicked in. The vassal couldn’t help but sigh of ennui. He fancied he’d find the squabble more interesting if the mud had instead been Dimitri’s blood, but that didn’t exclude the gravity of the situation. There was no way Hubert would isolate Edelgard with a savage king while he was off playing with the king’s blue cubs, but intruding wasn’t an option either. Between the human hands were many possibilities for murder, and Hubert understood this better than anyone. As a compromise, he adhered himself to the edge of the sludge patch and waited.

Dedue came to an immediate halt, self-taught to obey Dimitri without a nanosecond of delay. The sudden stop sent soil flying over his shoulders towards Dorothea, who had snuck up behind him to attack the vassal. She dropped her sword and let out a little yelp of surprise. Dashing before her opportunely was Sylvain, who sacrificed the radiance of his armor to shield the woman from the dreaded wave of dirt. “Careful now, milady,” he breathed with relief, turning to hold a hand out to her. “It’s all too often that an exquisite carnation becomes defaced by the carelessness of brutes.”

“My!” She tucked her hand into his, at a loss of words. “...Thank you, kind sir.” Gazing up, Dorothea discovered that the gentleman she spoke to was a former schoolmate. The last time she held his hand was when he offered her a dance, which the two couldn’t recall the conclusion of, but they were sure it was all very romantic. The truth was Sylvain danced on her feet until he received a slap and retired to his room for the rest of the night. For now, all she could think of was how handsome the young man had become.

“Sylvain! Is that you?” cried Dorothea.

Sylvain attempted his best impression of Prince Charming’s chuckle. “And you must be Lady Arnault. How could I forget?” 

“Please, _‘Dorothea’_ would be fine,” she insisted, giggling and tittering as the woman twirled locks of her hair around her forefinger. “Pardon me,” Dorothea continued her sugary exchange with Sylvain, “were you this tall the last time I saw you?”

“The question is—if you’ll allow me—whether you were this heavenly.” Sylvain’s syrupy voice at that moment would’ve nauseated anybody but Dorothea.

With a handheld telescope, Claude beheld the other two house leaders in the meantime. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and heard open-mouthed chewing by his ear. He couldn’t help but ask without looking up, “Hilda, what did we say about gum on the battlefield?”

“Never mind that, what’s up?” Demanded Hilda, before noticing a bronzed palm open under her. “I have no more gum, I already gave Lysithea a stick and then Raphael ate the rest. Before you ask,” she cut him off, “the guy didn’t have any breakfast, so _I_ didn’t have any choice. Now answer my question, what’s up?”

“The reason I tell you not to bring gum is that Raphael eats our whole supply in battle.” Claude handed Hilda the telescope for her to see. 

She chewed with her mouth closed. Except for the quiet: “Ah.” Fabric clouded the entire lens with yellow, and when Hilda peeked away from the instrument, she realized it was Claude. “Where’re you going?”

“To get a closer look,” he answered with a voice that steadily rose the further he walked. “You coming?”

“I’ll meet you there when I find someone to talk into giving me a lift.”

“Hunting for your next poor fool to bamboozle, I see,” Claude yelled from a significant distance.

Hilda puffed. “It’s called showing decency to a lady!” She cried at the top of her lungs, wondered if he heard her, then looked around. Not too far perched a long-haired fool on his horse, looking easy to bamboozle. There he sat, turning his nose up indignantly. 

Despite being able to see his face, Hilda struggled to make out the finer details or his expression without a telescope. Through the instrument, she discovered that it was one of those Black Eagle snobs. “Hilda? Where in the world is Claude?” A streak of violet outlined the edge of the lens as Hilda felt something sharp dig into the crown of her head. 

She knew that haughty tone anywhere. “Scram, Lorenz.” Valentine removed her head from under Loren’s chin, tucked her friend’s possession under her arm, and was just about to skip away when a gloved hand grabbed her arm. “Hey!” Her head whipped to glower at the nobleman. “What’s the big idea?!”

“Please don’t tell me you intend to approach Lord von Aegir.”

“And what of it? If you’re worried about me losing my head to his sword, I wouldn’t in your shoes. With a bit of effort, no noble-frat can resist this lovely face.” Her hands folded on top of each other and tucked themselves under her chin for emphasis. “‘Specially not one with hair that long—”

“I’ll have you know that any well-bred nobleman would have no trouble resisting the seduction of a wicked girl.”

“And how would you know he’s well-bred?”

“I’ve had the honor of joining him for tea. He proved to be quite the aficionado, I must say.” Lorenz drew himself up pridefully. “Such a shame we’ve ended up on the wrong end of one another’s swords.”

“If you love him so much, why don’t you _ma-a-arry_ him?” Sang Hilda. Her wisecrack produced an irritated scoff from Lorenz as he let go of her arm to bring a hand to his chest. Considering this an opportunity to escape, the woman-child flicked her hair over her shoulder and pranced off. 

Ferdinand held his head high with his nose pointed skyward, but the truth was that this was all an act. His sword and shield had been lost in the confusion and had no idea where his horse stood on the battlefield. Ferdinand had no clue where her imperial majesty was, either. Frankly, he grew more and more concerned by the second. Nevertheless, it would be unwise to move and suddenly find himself riding away from his Empress rather than towards her.

Von Aegir made speedy calculations. As if an invisible time bomb was strapped to him, he swiftly racked his brain and could hardly hold himself together when no solution surfaced. Knee-deep in unease, he initially hadn’t heard pampas grass rustle nearby if it hadn’t been accompanied by a booming thud. Ferdinand nearly jumped, but his horse did that for him instead. With the tiniest yelp she could manage, Hilda pantomimed timidity in the face of a towering horse and a dark knight.

Without his weapons, Ferdinand held his hands before him as if he intended to karate chop the warrior off the map. “Halt, stranger!” His voice boomed so loud, his weapons could probably hear him from wherever they lay. The lord’s armored hands trembled visibly as he ordered: “I advise you to come no closer! Do you have any idea who I am?!”

“Lord von Aegir?” Hilda’s voice rose a few pitches with each syllable. Her angelic act was getting rusty, but that didn’t seem to matter when she recited strips of information she picked up from her friend, “I’ve heard of you; they say you’re the well-bred nobleman and a connoisseur of tea, no?”

“Why, yes!” He wondered, for a moment, how a Golden Deer student notorious for apathy could remember him. The thought nearly flattered Ferdinand, before he tore his deviating thoughts back to the matter at hand. “And what’re you up to, rolling about in blood and filth as a plebeian might? Rise and fight like a noblewoman.”

“I’m _not_ rolling in blood and filth, do I look like a pig to you?!” She sat up straight to give him a black look. Eyes opening and expression falling, Hilda softened her voice. “What I mean to say is that I don’t have any weapons on me.” She spread her arms out into the shape of the letter ‘T’, before standing to twirl in her spot. “See? Not a lick of weaponry.”

“Give me one reason not to strike you down in your spot.”

“What sort of a nobleman would you be to kill an unarmed maiden? The nerve!” She cried. Before Ferdinand could interject, Hilda continued, “and secondly, I’m on my way to see Claude. Last I saw him, he was bounding towards your Lady Edelgard minutes ago.”

“Where?!”

“I can’t just tell you, silly goose, I have to show you. I intend to head there mysel—”

“Why didn’t you lead with that?!” Was the last question Ferdinand demanded of Valentine before leaning to grab her arm and dragging Hilda to seat herself behind him on the horse. In seconds, his mount became one with the wind—which did well to sweep Ferdinand’s satiny hair and make Hilda stir in her seat with envy.

Linhardt assumed a position similar to the last one he saw Edelgard in, with his back straight against the grass and his eyelids blocking the glaring sun. Her Imperial Highness had Lin’s eyes forced open for the four previous days in preparation for this battle. But now that she was busy romping in the muck with the beastly Bengal cat, he could finally sneak in forty winks. As the back of his eyelids went from white to brown, he wondered if someone stood between him and the sun. Perhaps it was an enemy here to finish him. Frankly, if he kicked the bucket then and there, Linhardt wouldn’t mind.

The scholar wasn’t suicidal, but between setting his exhaustion asides to fight back and taking an eternal nap, the latter seemed more inviting after spending the better half of the week awake. “Linhardt…” It seemed his eternal nap would have to wait. That voice was too familiar to belong to an opponent. “Don’t you know you’ll catch a cold like that, Doc?”

“Beat it, Caspar.” When the inside of his eyelids shifted back to a blinding white, Linhardt ate his words. With a small moan, he drew his arm across his eyes. Some hard object prodded his rib cage, yet he didn’t budge. “Edelgard’s busy fooling around with Prince Charming there, I might as well use this opportunity to get sneak in some shut-eye. Hubert’s not doing much, either, so why should I?”

“You’ll get something else from the ground, that’s for sure. You, of all people, oughta know that. Furthermore, what if someone accidentally steps on you? ...Or worse?”

“If someone _deliberately_ stepped on me, I’d find the energy in me to thank them.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Caspar squatted to the ground while his friend faded in and out of consciousness, and repeated, “You know that’s not what I meant. Hey, you look a little pale. More than usual, I mean.”

“I’ve spent ninety-six waking hours treating the most atrocious diseases, and now all my rods have been drained of all magical energy spent on others. I’ve been made pointless, so one little nap can’t hurt. If this is the battle that’ll end this damnable war, it’s safe to say I have no regrets.” Moments passed when only yelling soldiers heard in the background, and Caspar supposed his friend had drifted off until he spoke again. “Let Edelgard know serving her has been an honor.”

“How many days was that…?” Still squatting, Caspar counted ninety-six hours on his fingers. “Never mind.” He held a hand to the side of Linhardt’s face. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Mm, who knows?” Linhardt pressed his cheek to Caspar’s gauntlet. The cold texture calmed him, yet he couldn’t help but wonder how the half-wit expected to feel for his temperature through metal. He hummed pensively, enjoying having something to rest his head on before Caspar removed his hand.

“I see how it is,” declared the warrior, “and I know exactly what to do.” Linhardt wondered what the buffoon was planning before he felt a heavy mass weigh him down into the soil. He removed his arm from his eyes to feel for the object, then discovered metal under his hand.

Without opening his eyes, Linhardt demanded: “Caspar, what in Sothis’s name are you doing?”

“Shielding my friend, as any honorable warrior would. If you won’t get up, this is the only choice I have to protect you. And you’ll catch a cold without a blanket.” Linhardt prayed his friend kidded about the latter. Nevertheless, he had to admit the pressure Caspar’s body created on his own was not unlike a weighted blanket.

At the same time, Ingrid spotted Sylvain in the distance chatting up a woman and wondered at how he still managed to flirt on a battlefield. She cupped her gauntlet-clad hands to her mouth. “Sylvain, you pig!” Marching towards the pair was Ingrid, sending waves of mud their way as she stomped towards them that nearly begrimed the hem of Dorothea’s dress had Sylvain not nudged her out of the way. “You filthy, vulgar, obscene—Dorothea?!” 

“Ingrid!” Cried Sylvain as he linked an arm around her shoulders. He gave such a forceful squeeze disguised as a friendly greeting, it became difficult to move. She held a hand cautiously to the pommel of her sword before she noticed Dorothea’s weapon laying on the ground a few feet away. The songstress was unequipped. Ingrid asked herself the same question Ferdinand had only moments ago: would it be right to strike down an unarmed woman?

“Sylvain, what in the name of—” She had begun to ask before Dorothea cut her off.

“Ingrid-sweet! How long has it been?” Sylvain tried not to notice how Dorothea looked happier to see Ingrid than she did upon reuniting with him. The woman tossed her arms around Ingrid and pulled her into a hug. “Where do you keep yourself?!”

“Dorothea, I—”

“You look amazing!” Dorothea squeezed Ingrid to herself the way a girl might cuddle an old, favorite doll. It seemed she truly has forgotten she was on a battlefield. “Has it been five years?”

“Ugh…” Ingrid had grown weary of arguing.

There wasn’t anything about the state of affairs Felix hadn’t anticipated. The boar prince’s burst could only be considered a natural consequence of Byleth’s absence—nothing more and nothing less. It was no surprise Dimitri amused himself by doing what pigs did best—tumbling in crap and grime. “Hoy! You’re that blue swordsman, aren’t you?!” A hearty voice called someone Felix could only presume was himself.

He turned away from the mud patch towards the source of the sound, and sure enough, it was a sun-kissed woman who radiated an aura of pure idiocy. He clutched the grip of his sword in its sheath.“And who’re you?!”

“Leonie Pinelli,” she answered. “I’ve heard of you, blue guy...Yeesh, you certainly look blue. Well, gloomy swordmaster, you might know me best as one of Jeralt’s pupils.”

“Fascinating,” he yawned, “and that involves me...how?”

“You took Jeralt’s child from us. You’re being taught by his offspring, now. Sure doesn’t feel right, and I’m itching to settle this with one of Byleth’s students.”

“Quit spouting off nonsense. You either explain yourself here and now, or you die by my sword.”

“Did Byleth never teach you manners, or were you born such a boar?”

“How dare—”

“Swing that around like a youngster playing let’s-pretend all you like, but you’re all bark and no bite. I bet that without your precious toy, you’d be useless.”

“That so?!” He withdrew his silver sword. “Couldn’t one say the same about you and your weapon?”

“What weapon? I talk with my fists. Don’t even need gauntlets.” She didn’t hold her hands before her the way he expected. Instead, she said. “I’ve got gold burning a hole in my pocket worth two of your swords that say you wouldn’t be able to best me in an arm wrestle.” Felix deposited his weapon back into its sheath, visibly interested.

Maybe a little mercy wouldn’t hurt. “I’m feeling generous today, so I suppose I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Goodness,” murmured Mercedes. At her heeled boots laid a pair of dozing boys, and if memory serves, the two were over half a decade younger than her. There they lay, curled up against each other in a manner that implied to her the two were old friends. She could finish them off in their sleep, the way she was expected to, but the sight was too adorable. Mercedes would have to wait for them to wake up before even considering the idea of attacking them.

For now, it was clear to her that they’d catch a cold in the soggy grass and under the icy atmosphere unless something was done about it. She scanned her surroundings for anything that could substitute a blanket before her eyes fell to her skirt. Surely, a shorter hem would be more practical in a combat zone. Mercedes dropped to her knees and, from her bag, extracted scissors. The woman then set to work.

“Hey, Mercie!” Chirped a voice that never seemed to change, and thank God for that. Still, she might’ve woken the pair, so Mercie faced the origin of the voice with a finger pressed against her lips. “Oh, pardon me...Hold on, what’re you up to?”

“Putting together a makeshift blanket, of course. Wouldn’t do to stand by and let these poor boys fall ill. Would it, Annie?”

“But they’re men of the Empire!” Annette’s voice rose once again, rousing the boy who slept on top of his ally. His eyebrows creased as he shifted restlessly against the taller boy beneath him, who the two wrongfully worried would wake up as well. Though they weren’t aware there wasn’t any chance the warlock would come to, the women were right to suspect the warrior was on the brink of opening his eyes.

“Annie, sing a lullaby.”

“Pardon me?”

“If you sing for him, I’m certain he’ll fall right back asleep.”

“Ah, right.” Annette dropped to her knees by the warrior, for fear of what he might do to Mercedes if he woke up, and crooned the first melody that came to mind.

Ferdinand struggled to believe his eyes. Edelgard von Hresvelg—a dignified empress and the picture of grace—was caked in mud with her mortal enemy pinned under her knees and her hands knotted around his throat. It didn’t seem that Dimitri would lose consciousness just yet, but that was the least of Ferdinand’s concerns.

With arms wrapped tight around the young lord’s waist, Hilda peeked over his shoulder to get a better view. His thick hair obscured her vision. Paired with the light reflected off his radiant locks into her eyes, it became impossible to see. She tried the other shoulder and was pleased to find that she had better luck. “Well, well, aren't those two a sight for sore eyes.”

“Behaving as if they’re no older than twelve, I should think! What in the world is her majesty thinking?!” Cried Ferdinand, drawing himself up with indigence. He watched Dimitri struggle to claw Edelgard’s grip off, not unlike a rabid dog. “My, my. Is that Lord von Riegan I see—? Ow!”

“Move over, big wig!” Hilda shoved Ferdinand out of the way to leap off his high horse. On the other end of the sludge lake stood Claude, looking rather amused. Eyes glowing with delight, she began to sprint towards her friend, before feeling her foot sink into deeper into some warm substance. Valentine raised her leg, only to find it coated in tawny-brown, sprinkled with shriveled leaves. 

Hilda plunged her foot back in and lifted the other, beginning her trudge towards Claude. Roughly fifteen feet away, she could see Claude cup his hands around his mouth before a shout boomed across the field. “Hilda!” He drew a large inhale. “Did you pack the popcorn chicken?”

“I think so!” Hilda unbuttoned her cross-body satchel as she walked. Then, she answered: “Oh, so I did.” With a final push, Valentine thrust her drenched boots out of the muck. Now that she was within earshot, Hilda addressed Claude with her indoor voice, “What’re you planning?”

Lysithea stomped onwards impatiently; there wasn’t a single familiar face in sight. There was hardly anybody to be seen at all. The last three members of the Golden Deers she had faced were Raphael, Ignatz, and—most recently—Hilda. Hilda, she had seen sharing a horse with one of those Black Eagle bastards. It was this that had her chasing after the pair in the direction they were heading long after she lost sight of them, her little hands balled into a fist so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Lysithea’s wee feet crushed the tall grass, one after the other, until she gradually stopped walking and continued to only stomp in her place. Staring at her feet pounding the ground, Ordelia contemplated the hour she had wasted on her fruitless search. Her ears caught a horse’s whinny and discovered upon looking up that it belonged to the exact scoundrel who had taken Hilda away. He seemed too concentrated on whatever it was he stared at to notice another Golden Deer standing by him. Lysithea couldn’t understand what distracted him until she caught the disturbing sight of two house leaders rolling through the wet earth. 

Then she picked up the pace, tearing around the lake of filth rather than through it and pelting towards her two trusted elders. The little trip proved to be quite the journey for her stubby legs, but Lysithea refused to spare another moment watching the brazen display of cat-and-mouse. “Hil—Hilda!” She panted, “Claude…!”

“Afternoon, Lysithea,” mumbled Hilda. She had an elbow rested on Claude’s shoulder to shovel chicken popcorn into her mouth, with the other hand holding the bag between the two. 

Claude reached in twice as often as Hilda did, muttering at intervals, “The suspense is killing me! ...I do hope it lasts.”

“Why, Claude!” Cried Lysithea, “Aren’t you going to do something?” She couldn’t believe he was the student who led them for a whole school year.

Claude scanned his surroundings for an answer that could satisfy his teammate. He shrugged. “Help,” said Claude. “Guards, seize them.”

Ashe stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the chaos raging on beneath him with his hood pulled on to block out the sun. A tall and pasty man a good way away stood still, not unlike a gargoyle. The sniper’s keen eagle eyes made out that the beast was no less than six feet tall, if not taller. Large and motionless, Hubert made the perfect target, like a bright archery bullseye inches from one’s nose. Ashe stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, holding the bow vertically and aiming the arrow at the gargoyle.

Then, rather than firing the arrow, he undrew it and lowered the bow. Not far from Hubert laid a stocky, blond man in a fetal position. Ashe’s sharp eyes registered that the unfortunate fellow didn’t _seem_ to be seriously injured—he wasn’t even bleeding. Could the man have been ill? Ashe couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

He knew it would make quite the trip, but Ashe left his spot on the cliff regardless and made his way back down to investigate. Coming to the aid of the helpless always came before bumping off the lawless—at least, that was how it was in Ashe’s book.

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to upload the whole thing as a one-shot but it got longer than I expected so I posted the first 5k words as the first chapter and left the remaining for the second when I finish it. I've got exams rn but I'll hopefully be done with chapter 2 soon.  
> (P.S. Yes, that was a Willy Wonka reference.)


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